


Love Isn't Just For Christmas

by TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Series: Friends, Foes, and Festivities [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Proud Greg, emotional mycroft, nativity, parentstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: Mycroft had been the most excited he had ever seen the man, waiting for the day to come around that his Little Miss Sophie became a star on stage.





	Love Isn't Just For Christmas

Greg hurried to find a seat because he was running late, and the show was just about to start. He found two seats on the end of a row and jumped into the end one as the first words came from the narrator. Rubbing his hands together in excitement, he settled in to to be a very proud father and watch his daughter in her very first school (alternative) nativity.

 

He was gutted that Mycroft couldn’t make it from work, but not as gutted as Mycroft was when he told Greg. Mycroft had been the most excited he had ever seen the man, waiting for the day to come around that his Little Miss Sophie became a star on stage. He told everyone that would listen how proud he was, he helped Sophie learn her lines and songs, and even volunteered with the school to post flyers to all the kids’ parents.

 

They had even stayed over at Mycroft’s place last night so that they would all be together that morning and he and Mycroft could go together. Sophie was absolutely buzzing and Greg wasn’t complaining.

 

When Mycroft answered the call after breakfast and his face immediately fell before he forced it back into an emotionless mask, Greg knew.

 

They didn’t tell Sophie before she went to school. He didn’t want to upset her or put her off because she was as excited as he was and there was no way he was ruining that.

 

Mycroft kissed her forehead and smiled as happily as he could as he told her that she would shine the brightest. He stood, pecked Greg on the lips, hesitated as he brushed Greg’s cheek with his thumb and then left to lock himself in his office.

 

Greg wished for a moment that he could record it for him, but that wasn’t allowed. Mycroft would probably find one security camera or other to watch it from if he wanted to and Greg didn’t doubt he would use every resource available, but that really wasn’t the same.

 

A song sung by about ten tiny children erupted on stage and Greg smiled at the little stars and angels and santas and… a tree.  _ Why is there always a kid in a tree? _ He shook his head and chuckled to himself. He  _ was  _ that kid in a tree once upon a time. Mycroft would have scoffed at that; no tree suit was good enough for his little star.

 

There were a few laughs through the audience of family and friends as one kid took a tumble and then thought to cover it up by dabbing. It was awful and he laughed anyway. Kids.

 

Another moment was stolen by a little boy who sat at the front of the stage with his legs crossed as he sang a solo. How a kid that age could sing like that, he didn’t know. It was amazing. He was, of course, already anxious to see Sophie appear on stage, but that added another level of nervousness.

 

Luckily, Sophie did not gain all of his traits, and she took the awed silence at the end of the song as her cue to strut onto the stage in all of her golden glory.

 

She stood front and centre, held out her arms, and recited her original Christmas Star poem from memory. Everyone listened, enraptured, as she rhymed about the joy Christmas brings to friends and family without losing her words. 

 

He shouted a loud “Woop woop!” with his hand cupped around his mouth like, as Mycroft would call him, a hooligan at a football game. No one else in the audience did and that was when he realised that the other kids had joined in at the end of the poem and started singing a song.

 

Greg noticed the wicked grin that crossed his daughter’s face as he did it, though, and he knew that she needed to hear it and see that he was there watching, so he didn’t care too much about the looks he got.

 

All of the kids bowed at the end of the song as they did with all of them and Greg laughed again when Sophie ran back on at the last minute to bow a second time.

 

He had a feeling that Mycroft wouldn’t have just whooped, but given a standing ovation to top it all off.

 

He wished again that Mycroft was here to see it and took a tiny amount of comfort in the fact that Mycroft would be there when they got home to listen to every single detail from Sophie herself and Mycroft would still be as proud as punch.

 

God, did he love that man.

 

God, did he love his daughter.

 

He was drawn from his musings by a tap on the shoulder and a whispered, “Move over.” He did as he was told before he realised and then turned to tell the newcomer that they could have at least said please. The person he was met with stopped him in his tracks, though.

 

“Mycroft?” Greg said in disbelief.

 

Mycroft was indeed sitting himself in the chair that Greg had just vacated. He was staring ahead at the stage, presumably watching Sophie exit stage left.

 

His initial reaction was to jump with delight in his seat.  _ Mycroft made it! He was here!  _ Although, his excitement died down as quickly as it came when he remembered what he’d just seen.

 

“Oh my god, Mycroft, I’m so sorry.” Greg began to explain to minimise the emotional impact on Mycroft when he realised that even though he made it, he didn’t. “Sophie already did her part, she was just on stage.”

 

Mycroft shifted in the seat to face him properly. “I know.” He replied with a growing smile. “I walked in as Sophie did.” There were wet track marks on his face and Greg gasped, thrilled once more that Mycroft really hadn’t missed anything after all, but also because Mycroft was showing so much emotion in public for his daughter. He mentally corrected that to ‘their daughter’ and then mentally nodded to himself. That was much better.

 

Greg awkwardly hugged him as best as he could sat down in these school hall chairs and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s forehead. “Our little star.” He said.

 

“Our little star.” Mycroft agreed.


End file.
